


Prank

by windsorblue



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-30
Updated: 2005-03-30
Packaged: 2018-04-13 23:14:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4541139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windsorblue/pseuds/windsorblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duo plays an April Fool's Day prank on Trowa. It's a prank with a purpose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prank

I haven't entirely ruled out killing him. Yet.

In my own defense, most of yesterday was pretty miserable, from the moment I'd woken up. My alarm clock interrupted a dream I was having about a friend...a close friend. Probably my best friend, were I inclined to assign a relative value-based scale to my friendships, which I'm usually not, but I digress. At any rate, the dream involved Quatre, a secluded beach, a half-unzipped wetsuit and a large blanket on which to perform any number of activities that would be better done without getting sand somewhere it doesn't belong.

It was a good dream. Right up to the part where I slipped my hand into that wetsuit, and Quatre moaned out the morning traffic report.

I got up to take a cold shower. Apparently the pipes in my building are in need of repair, as the water was, in fact, cold; much in the same way that sitting naked on a glacier would be cold, except for the randomly timed ten-second intervals when it was scalding hot.

The commute sucked. Of course, I had known it would ahead of time, as in my dream Quatre had whispered to me in an insanely alluring voice that there was a broken-down bus on 45th and Lexington while I was attempting to give him a hand job.

Work was frustrating, to put it politely. Being a Preventer isn't a bad job, as jobs go. I've certainly had worse. But for the last three weeks I've been on training duty - specialist training in covert ops, to be specific. My students have been culled from the ranks of new recruits, based on their advanced aptitude and skill levels. Allegedly. Yesterday 46% of them failed their first field test. One of them, quite stealthily, almost shot himself in the foot, and then had the temerity to complain to Une about his test score. Apparently I have it out for him. How exactly I managed to cause him to discharge his sidearm while he was trying to holster it was never sufficiently explained.

So by the time the field test, the reviewing, and the post-test ass-chewing were complete, I was ready to go back to my apartment and have a nice bottle of Cuervo for dinner. Never mind that it was only 3 p.m. But first, I decided that I needed to clean up, and that perhaps I ought to avail myself of the locker room showers and their hopefully well-regulated water temperature. My sister Cathy says that the world always feels like a better place after a nice, hot shower, and I had a thought to test that theory.

As it turns out, she's incorrect.

Duo was already in the shower stall next to me when I got there. He teased me about my student - word travels fast in that building, and Duo's almost always the first to know - and he listened to me complain about my lousy day. I even told him about the dream I'd had that morning. Duo knew about my interest in Quatre, knowledge hard earned by a night spent plying me with more beer than anyone should consume in a four-hour period. He'd gotten me drunk, and I'd spilled my guts like a cut-open fish. But I never regretted telling him - he was more than sympathetic, and never teased me nor was cruel about it. In fact he was quietly encouraging, and kind enough to swallow his frustrations when I chickened out at pretty much every opportunity to tell Quatre how I felt for him.

Apparently there's only so much frustration Duo can swallow before he feels compelled to act.

In retrospect, I should have known that the half-smile I got as he left the shower was trouble. After all these years, you'd think I would have learned. But I didn't catch it, nor did I correctly interpret the leer in his voice when he advised me to take my time in the shower.

Needless to say, when I turned off the water and picked up my shampoo, I was startled to find that my towel was missing. Figuring it was a safe bet that I'd forgotten to grab it out of my locker, I shook some of the water out of my hair and walked naked through the changing room. It's not like I have anything the other guys in there don't.

It wasn't until I got to my locker and opened it that I realized I'd been had.

My towel was nowhere to be seen. In fact, neither was the dirty uniform I'd worn that day, nor the clean uniform I keep in there, nor my boots, for that matter. No, the only thing inside my locker was my comb and a short silk kimono-style robe, bright pink with black lace trimming the hem and neck. And when I say bright pink, I mean of the sort that ought to be looked at through one of those cardboard devices one uses to observe a solar eclipse to prevent inadvertent blindness. Cathy has a bottle of nail polish this particular color, and according to the manufacturer the shade is known as "Honolulu Choo-Choo Pink". What, exactly, a Hawaiian train has to do with the color pink is unclear. Attached to the robe was a note:

_Tro - Happy April Fool's day, buddy! You can thank me later. Duo_

I pinched the bridge of my nose and muttered, "He's a dead man."

As I combed my hair, still dripping from the shower, I considered my options. I kept a set of civilian clothes in my office - handy when you spend part of your working time trying to be unobtrusive. It wouldn't take but a few minutes to get back there - maybe if I was careful to remain unseen, I could just make the trip naked and not have to put on that...thing. Then I realized that I'd already used up my allotment of patience with getting my ass handed to me for one day and decided the risk of discovery was not worth a second dose.

I had the brilliant idea of breaking into Duo's locker and stealing _his_ towel, but when I got the door open I found that the bastard had cleaned it out, leaving only another note behind:

_Nice try._

Fuck.

I was out of options, not to mention about to catch a chill, so I gritted my teeth and put it on. I pulled it as tightly around me as it would go and double-knotted the sash. I had to wonder if he'd stolen it from Hilde's closet, because it was much shorter on me than it had appeared to be when hanging in the locker, the hem hitting me at just about mid-thigh. I tried to tug it down lower, but that only succeeded in pulling the fabric apart at the opening and exposing my chest and stomach more. Either way, my modesty was in grave danger. So I pulled it shut again, held it closed at the chest with one hand while I tugged the hem down as far as it would go, and set out.

Naturally, the hallway was full of people. Well, all right, maybe not full - maybe a half-dozen or so...enough people to ensure that I would be hearing about this for the foreseeable future. I held my head up as if there was nothing at all unusual about me walking down the hallway from the locker rooms to my office dressed in a woman's robe. Acting like you blend in is half the battle, usually. Unfortunately, not always. I was stared at. I was whistled at. Someone shouted "Hey Barton! Nice legs!" while someone else added "Oh, baby! Can I get some fries to go with that shake?" One of the file clerks walking by dropped her armload of work, scattering folders and paper all over the floor. In an attempt to be a gentleman, I knelt down to help her pick them up, only to find her staring at my lap with wide eyes and her mouth slightly open.

I handed her a stack of loose pages and said "Here you go. Sorry about that."

"It's okay," she replied. Her voice sounded like Minnie Mouse's. I tried to give her a nice, normal smile as I got up, but I suspect it came out more suspicious and wan that I'd intended. Everyone else, I ignored.

I got to my office and closed the door with a slam. I'm not usually prone to slamming doors, but the situation seemed to call for it. I sat down at my desk and reached down underneath it, searching for the backpack I keep there with my change of clothes stashed inside.

It wasn't there. Fuck. I got down on my knees and crawled under the desk, in a desperate and completely baseless hope that I'd kicked the backpack farther back than I could reach. No dice - it simply wasn't there. _Fuck!_

Of course it was at this moment, when I was head first under the desk on my hands and knees with my ass in the air, that the door to my office slammed open. That door was having almost as bad a day as I was. "Trowa - I need the file on the Valente case. The girlfriend's in Interrogation and she's about to crack..." Heero's voice stopped abruptly, right about the same time his boot steps came to a halt somewhere behind me. "Uh...no pun intended. "

I jerked up in a misguided attempt to preserve my sense of propriety and nailed the back of my head on the underside of the desk. Fuck and fuck. Wincing, I crawled out backwards, turned and got to my feet with all the dignity I could muster. "It's in my 'ongoing' basket."

"Right." Heero didn't move. He was outright staring at me.

"The 'ongoing' basket is over there."

"Right."

I crossed my arms over my chest, leaned back on the desk and crossed my legs for good measure. "Over there, as in, not over here."

"Why the hell are you wearing that?"

I let out an exasperated sigh. "Duo pulled a prank on me."

Heero frowned. "Is it the first of April already?"

"Apparently."

"A bit cold, are you?"

I yanked the fabric tighter across my chest and moved my arms up. "A little, yeah."

Heero grinned at me. "Nice color - looks like Honolulu Choo-Choo pink."

My eyes narrowed. "What are you doing reading the labels on bottles of nail polish?"

"Relena painted my toes that color."

"That's way more about you than I wanted to know."

His grin devolved into a smirk as he reached for the file he needed. "So is it safe to assume that Duo...?"

"Is a dead man, yes."

He nodded, pausing at the doorway, where he looked me up and down and said "Nice legs."

"Get the fuck out of my office, Heero."

"Good luck getting home," he called over his shoulder as he left.

...fuck. I'd ridden my motorcycle in to work. How the hell was I going to...no, wait, I thought...this was okay. I had a ratty pair of worn-out jeans and an oil-stained t-shirt shoved into the stash box under the seat. Sure, there wouldn't be any stopping someplace fancy for dinner on the way home, but so what? At least I'd be dressed like a man again...a homeless man, maybe, but still a man. With that in mind, I made for the elevator. When I got there it was blessedly empty. I jabbed the button to close the doors and then the one for the third level of underground parking. If I could just make it fifteen more floors without being spotted...

The elevator stopped on the very next floor, and when the door opened Wufei stepped inside. "Well, now..."

"Don't say a word." I tried to look threatening. On anyone else, it might have worked. He just grinned and stood beside me, turning to face the door, sneaking looks at me out of the corner of his eye.

"Maxwell?" he asked.

"Yep."

Wufei nodded slowly. "I take it you'll be killing him, then."

"Oh, yeah."

"Of course." He was quiet while a couple of floors clicked by. "You know, most people with red tones in their hair really can't get away with wearing pink, but you're pulling it off quite nicely."

"Shut the fuck up, Wufei."

He smirked at me as the elevator came to a stop at his floor. "By the way, nice legs." As he stepped out he put his hand over the button panel and pushed about six of them, ensuring that the door would open on each successive floor before reaching mine.

"Chang," I snarled, "You suck."

"Yes, I do, and if you were to show up at my apartment in women's lingerie like that I'd be willing to swallow, too." And the smug bastard winked at me as the doors closed.

"Okay," I told myself, suppressing a groan. Really, the last thing I need to be imagining while in this poor excuse for a garment was a blowjob. "Duo is completely and utterly dead."

The elevator dropped a couple more floors, the doors opening and shutting without incident. I was momentarily grateful, but the next floor coming up was the lobby. I braced for the worst, but there was no way I could have adequately prepared myself.

The door opened, and from the clinically decorated lobby, in stepped Quatre, who looked up, saw me and promptly froze in his tracks as the door slid shut behind him.

Fuck. _Fuck!_ I could feel my face start to burn almost instantly. Cathy often uses the phrase 'died of embarrassment', but up until this moment I hadn't sufficiently appreciated the nuances of the term. Duo had moved on from merely dead to dead from the most painful, brutish means I could conjure up.

"Hi."

I couldn't look Quatre in the eye, so I ducked my head and studied the floor. "Hey."

"Uh...hm. Do I want to know why you're dressed like that?"

"Duo," I muttered.

"Ah."

"He stole my clothes while I was in the shower and left me this...thing."

"I see. Well, I guess that would explain why he called me and told me to get down here right away. He said he had something to show me..."

I slumped against the wall of the elevator and pinched the bridge of my nose, which did nothing to stave off the hellatious headache that was forming. Cuervo for dinner was sounding better all the time.

For a few minutes the silence between us resonated, me glaring a hole in the floor and Quatre looking at me while trying to look like he wasn't. When the door opened and closed on the second parking level, just one more floor to go before I could bolt, Quatre stepped forward and pushed the 'stop' button, bringing the elevator to a grinding, unhappy halt.

My head jerked up to look at him. "Quatre...?"

"I'm sorry," he murmured, turning to face me. He stepped closer, stepped so his feet were on either side of my crossed ankles. "I'm sorry, Trowa," he said again, his hands moving to cup my face. "I'm sorry, but I just...you look so...irresistible..."

And then he was kissing me.

 _Quatre_ was kissing _me._

It took me a few seconds to process that. Once I did he was starting to pull away, and without meaning to I made a noise that sounded like I wanted him, badly and right there. A pretty accurate little noise, all told. He licked his lips and kissed me again, and this time I had the presence of mind to kiss him back. When it broke he was flush against me, and his hands were sliding under the collar of the robe, pushing it apart. "I've been wanting this for so long," he whispered, his fingers tracing along my skin. "I tried to tell you so many times, but I could never think of words that were good enough."

"You have?" My voice was so soft, so full of his air, that for a minute I wasn't sure it was mine. "You did?"

He nodded, his cheek brushing mine.

"Me too," I replied. "I have and I did too."

He leaned back and gave me a smile, the likes of which I'd only seen in my dreams before. "Can I give you a lift home, then?"

"Yeah." I almost laughed as I said it. "Yeah, please."

He smiled again, turned in my arms and leaned over to push the elevator button, turned back to me and smiled some more. "Has anyone ever told you you've got really nice legs?"

I snorted a laugh. "Not until today."

Quatre took me home, and he stayed the night. He's still here, asleep next to me. The Honolulu Choo-Choo pink robe is probably still lying wherever it landed when Quatre took it off of me. And as of yet, Duo is not dead, although depending on how the day pans out he might be by the end of it.

He'll be safe as long as he didn't take any pictures.

*the end!*  



End file.
